Sunday Culture (aka the one about Jeff Buckley)

I think I was about 17 years old when I was first captivated by the music of Jeff Buckley. The first time I heard anything by him was on my favourite TV show ‘The West Wing’, where his cover of ‘Hallelujah’ played over a particularly heartbreaking scene. I was hooked. That voice! My friend Clare had a similar awakening. I can’t recall exactly how or when we shared our love for this singer songwriter but it bonds us to this day.

Last August, in the US state she now lives in, she caught a preview of Amy Berg’s documentary ‘It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley’. A film 15 years in the making and with unprecedented access to primarily the women who were close to him. She urged me see it as soon as I could. In my urgency I emailed the local independent cinema to beg them to screen it (UK distribution rights hadn’t even been secured at this point). Anyway, fast forward a few months and I was finally able to see it this week.

I’ve written before about the power of a voice. Jeff Buckley’s music unlocks a deep reservoir of emotion in me that is so engrained and automatic that my eyes started leaking during the opening frames of this film. Some of it is tied innately to times in my own life history that his music really resonated. I knew the broad strokes of his story- son of a renowned folk singer, recorded one glorious studio album, burned very bright then died far too young in a tragic drowning accident. Yeah, he was beautiful to look at but the real beauty was the vulnerability and raw emotion he poured in to his lyrics and vocal instrumentation. The closest way I can describe the impact on me is to bastardise some of his own lyrics- ‘he’s the tear that hangs inside my soul forever’.

The language used to describe Jeff Buckley’s voice and music usually tends towards the divine. He’s beyond. Transcendental. The programming director from the local cinema I had a gorgeous email exchange with described him as ‘one of the most beautiful and ethereal voices there has ever been’. But one thing I enjoyed about the documentary was discovering that many of his musical influences were women- Nina Simone, Judy Garland. His mother stated from an early age ‘he wanted to be a chanteuse’. This seems so obvious listening to his voice and how he used it now. He didn’t give a fuck about sounding too ‘feminine’. I suppose my point is something towards him maybe being unhindered and truly able to express himself (via an unheard of even by that time full creative control record deal) that allowed his music to transcend. I don’t think the current music industry will ever allow such a thing and thus we’ve lost more than Jeff.

Oh to have been one of the early punters at Sin-é where he served coffees and then served tunes in a corner. Or to look back and remember the naïve hope of a 17 year old that the kind of ‘my kingdom for a kiss upon the shoulder’ love would find her. How that songs hits a lot more painfully 23 years later.

Take ten minutes out of your day to listen to the recording above. Live in a café before he recorded ‘Grace’. The raw, working it out version with lyrics that were subsequently ditched and refined (like 17 year old me).

I’m still working it out but am grateful to have this music to sustain me through the glorious journey that is life.